


Zeitgeist

by schmulte



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by a Hozier Song, Kid Fic, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmulte/pseuds/schmulte
Summary: "Art and music are the vehicle for the zeitgeist"A series of first prince one shots inspired by Hozier's songs
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 20
Kudos: 59





	1. Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_

_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_

_Only then I am human_

_Only then I am clean_

Henry grew up in churches. Every Sunday with his grandmother, back straight, eyes up; every holiday, every special occasion, baptisms, weddings, Henry was there. The priest would stand and stare and speak in monotone and those in the congregation who had fully formed frontal lobes would nod and pretend to understand. Henry was too young to even pretend; his confusion was apparent, in the way he'd fidget in the pew and fumble words to read along. 

He did not understand what they were supposed to be doing. Henry, young as he was, could not wrap his head around a god that only spoke through selected people, and he certainly didn't understand why everyone revered it so much. He was too logical, even as a child, to comprehend organized religion, and he made the mistake of letting that thought slip through the cracks.

It may have been excusable, were he an ordinary child. His mother would have smiled and said _he's young, he'll grow out of it._ But Henry was not an ordinary child, was he? He was not allowed excuses, so he learned to hide his feelings. Stiff upper lip, stone expression, the cold-hearted prince standing dutifully in the pews. 

It got worse as he got older- as he learned more about the world, about himself. About who we was. About _what_ he was. Sunday trips to church went from boredom and confusion to bile rising in his throat and panic attacks in the bathroom afterwards. _They know_ , the little voice in the back of his head would tell him as he struggled to breathe on the linoleum floor. _They know and you're going to hell and no one will love you because you are a sin._

How desperately he wanted to fight every time, to refuse to get in the car until he was forced. But he couldn't; it would raise suspicion, wouldn't it? Because why would he be so against going? Surely he was too old to be that bored. And then questions would come, and Henry would flounder, and that would be the end of everything. So he never fought.

The worst of it came after his father died. Church reminded him of the funeral, and the funeral reminded him of the countless nights he stayed up until the sun rose praying for his father to get better that amounted to nothing. Maybe it was his fault that his father died. Maybe, if he'd payed more attention in church, or if he wasn't gay, god would have been merciful, and his father would have lived. But hours on his knees and in confessionals did nothing to help Arthur Fox. And no matter how hard he prayed, he would not come back.

He stopped caring after that. His ever-curious mind never attempted to piece the puzzle back together, to understand why people believed so fiercely. It didn't matter to him anymore. He would never know, and he didn't care to. 

Until Alex. 

Because with Alex, Henry understands. He understands the need to revere, to build shrines and monuments to one single being. To love Alex is to worship and be worshipped; his body is a temple to pay reverence to. His skin is anointed with touches and sweet kisses and he grants Henry the blessings of a whispered _baby_ in his ear. He takes his communion from Alex's lips at night and whispers to himself _body, blood_ as he drowns in the sweet wine of the night. 

He is everything Henry never understood as a child, the missing piece in the puzzle, what he missed before. People, at least the truly devoted, do not worship out of duty or obligation- it is borne from love. Henry never had love for god as a child, but he has love for Alex, and he understands. 

If loving Alex is sinful, then Henry is the devil, and he will happily fall from heaven a hundred times if it means he can worship freely.


	2. Rhythm and Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackie and Wilson, kidfic!

_She's gonna save me, call me baby_

_run her hands through my hair_

_She'll know me crazy, soothe me daily_

_Better yet, she wouldn't care_

_We'll steal a Lexus, be detectives,_

_ride 'round picking up clues_

_we'll name our children Jackie and Wilson_

_raise em on rhythm and blues_

Alex comes home late. It isn't a new occurrence- no matter how hard he tries, sometimes he gets caught up and when he looks at the clock three hours have passed and the night cleaning staff is giving him dirty looks through the glass doors of his office. He'll come home and his dinner will be saved in the fridge with a little post it note from Henry and he'll spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch with his little family. No matter how late he's come home, he's never, _ever_ missed tucking the kids into bed. 

Except for tonight, when he's been preparing for this deposition all week and put his phone on silent, and the next thing he knew it was eight thirty and he was going to miss bedtime. Guilt had gnawed at his gut; he and Henry were both busy people, but they had agreed when they decided to have a surrogate they promised each other they'd make time for their kids no matter how busy they were. And tonight, Alex has broken that promise. 

It's raining outside, of course, and the subway is late as always, and by the time he's unlocking the door to the brownstone it's nine pm and he's the worst father ever. He opens the door quietly as he can, fully expecting to be met with an angry Henry and the disappointed faces of his children in the morning. 

He stops at the doorway and covers a tired smile with his hand as his heart melts. Because, in the middle of their living room, the couch has been pushed back against the wall and Henry and the twins are dancing in the middle of the room, David barking at their heels. And Henry is- Henry is _his_ Henry. Not the poised prince or the successful non-profit director, he is Alex's husband and the father of their children, smiling and shaking his hips and singing along to Marvin Gaye even though he's completely tone deaf. 

The kids are laughing along and stomping with him on their little toddler feet, brown curls bouncing as they move. They don't know anything outside of this yet- nothing about their royal blood, about who the PPOs are besides the adults that sometimes help daddy walk them to daycare. Alex wants things to stay that way, to keep his children wrapped in this little bubble of their brownstone forever. If his limbs were capable of movement, he'd take a picture to seal the moment in their memory. 

He catches Henry's eye from the doorway, and that smile, pure Henry, lifting up from the corner of his mouth is enough to spur Alex to move. He puts a finger to his lips and creeps up behind the kids, scooping the both of them up, one in each arm, while they wriggle around and giggle and gasp _daddy._ He gives them hundreds of kisses and Henry one on his lips, to which his children _eww_ at being trapped between them. 

"Alright you two," Henry says through the music. "bedtime."

The kids whine, but they allow themselves to be picked back up and taken to their room. Wilson clings a little tighter to Alex's shirt than usual, and his little fists are still wrapped in the material when he finally falls asleep. Alex's heart aches to think of missing this, of not getting to see the little smile on Jackie's face when she closes her eyes that's so like Henry and the soft breathing of Wilson as he dreams. 

He follows Henry back to the living room after he's pliant enough to be gently pulled away, and immediately wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face in his shirt. Henry's hands go reflexively to his waist, and he coaxes Alex's head up enough to kiss along the scruff on his jaw.

"You need a shave," he remarks in that hushed voice reserved for after bedtime. 

"I'm so sorry I'm late, baby. I can't believe I almost missed the kids' bedtime."

Henry places another kiss to Alex's hairline and doesn't tease him for the hint of gray there. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

He sways them to the music, dancing right there in their living room, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on Alex's hips. Alex watches handfuls of blonde hair slip through his fingers as he lightly brushes through the nape of Henry's neck. And it's wonderful, here in the brownstone, their home, doing things they hadn't thought possible at the start of all this. The song switches, and Alex smiles against Henry's lips as he sings along to the words _raise em on rhythm and blues_.


	3. For Years or For Hours

_We'll lay here for years or for hours_

_Your hand in my hand, so still and discreet_

_So long, we'd become the flowers_

_We feed well the land and worry the sheep_

_And they'd find us in a week_

As far back as Henry can recall, in his entire life there has never been a more perfect day than this. 

The sky is clear and blue above him, disturbed only for a moment by fluffy white clouds that pass as soon as they appear. Alex points them out lazily with one tanned index finger. _That one kind of looks like David. Look at that one over there, it looks like a crown, if you squint._ The sun is shining, but not blindingly bright as Henry has come to find it as he ages. The sunlight that streams in through the canopy of tree tops is the perfect amount; it warms Henry's skin through his soft linen clothes and tints his cheeks pink. 

It is perfect and picturesque, this rare sunny afternoon on a hillside in Wales. It reminds Henry of childhood days spent running barefoot through the grass, not a care for anything in the world besides how he and the earth could best interact. If he were a younger man, he'd roll until there was dirt underneath his fingernails and his fine clothes had been dirtied beyond repair. But Henry is not as young as he once was, gray already creeping at the not yet thirty-year-old nape of his neck as he tosses a stick for David to go fetch. 

Beside them, a stream trickles along with reckless abandon, the cool breeze carrying drops their way every so often. Alex recoils when it happens, but the feeling is pleasant on Henry's baking skin, and he relishes the occasional relief. Yesterday, in a fit of spirited youth that can only be found from losing one's PPOs, they stripped down bare and bathed in the stream. Henry can recall the exact feel of Alex's fingertips, wrinkled and dripping, creeping along the planes of his collarbone and up his neck. The familiar hand is in his between them, here in the soft grass, and Henry gives it a single squeeze at the memory. 

"God," Alex sighs next to him, sunglasses resting low on his nose. "I never want to leave this place."

Henry agrees with a hum and a quiet, "I could think of worse places to decompose."

Alex smacks his shoulder lightly, and Henry only smiles, too tired and contended to laugh. His phone vibrates in his pocket- probably Shaan, reminding him of some royal duty to attend to or just asking a general _where in the bloody fuck are you._ He'll have to apologize after this is all over; it's not Shaan's fault the two of them decided to play hooky for few days while in Wales. Alex and Henry are both stubborn creatures, and when the two of them decide they've had enough of royal hand-waving and questions about their sex life, there's nothing that can stop them from finding an escape. 

It was scheduled on their tour as a nature hike, this little excursion. No more than an hour of light trail-walking with a tour guide and four PPOs, dutifully observing the Welsh countryside without excitement or further remark. Henry will blame Alex for pulling them off track, but really it was the both of them in the end who made the decision to run. Really, they hadn't run far, and Henry is more than positive the PPos are keeping a distant watch on them. The Prince of Wales is not someone that you simply _lose_. 

Still, chasing what little freedom they'd been offered, the two of them had circled back to civilization and taken a taxi to a rental service. It was Henry's first time renting a car by himself, and Alex took the piss until he couldn't breathe through his laughter anymore. It was a Jeep, the horribly unsafe kind with no doors or windows. Henry had laughed while he drove, hair whipping around him and obscuring his vision, and was distinctly reminded of a conversation not too long ago, on a road like this, with Alex halfway across the world and his own heart buried beneath the floorboards of his body. 

_Hey, Henry, say the name of the house you're staying at again._

_Llwynywermod._

_One more time._

_Llwynywermod._

_Jesus._

Alex's hand had covered Henry's own on the center console, squeezing lightly, and he had to yell to be heard over the roaring wind. 

"You okay, babe?"

Henry had smiled, and nodded, and parked the car in front of a large, generic outdoors store. He had let Alex pick everything out, running wildly between the aisles and poking fun at Henry's delicate English sensibilities. Henry had winked at the PPO he saw straggling a few aisles behind and directed the rest of his attention firmly on Alex. They bought a tent and a lantern and only one sleeping bag ( _what, you don't want to cuddle with me?_ ). Henry also insisted on trying something called astronaut ice cream, and Alex had rolled his eyes affectionately and bought two packs. 

They spent the better half of their night trying to put up the tent, which Henry was forced to admit he was pretty useless at, and after had curled up in their sleeping bag, Alex's back to Henry's chest. Henry had murmured childhood stories in Alex's ear and pronounced a variety of complicated Welsh words until they were both too tired to keep their eyes open any longer. David was the only one who got a decent night's sleep, but Henry still woke in the morning refreshed, inhaling the scent of _Alex and Alex and Alex_ that wrapped him up and enveloped him completely.

They haven't moved all morning, lying on their backs in the grass, holding hands. Alex's tan is deeper and his eyes crinkle at the corner when he laughs, but his hand is firm and steady in Henry's, heartbeat just detectable beneath the delicate skin of a wrist. 

"Tomorrow, I think we'll go to Llangrannog Beach," he thinks out loud, not taking his eyes off the sky. "There's a cove we can go to at low tide that's not too crowded."

Alex stretches like a cat in the grass, long limbs twining with Henry's as he turns on his side and closes his eyes. 

"Whatever you want, baby. Just don't make me move for a few more hours."

Henry kisses the top of Alex's head, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he smiles to himself. _I can think of worse places to decompose._ His phone vibrates again, and he lets it ring and ring until it falls out of his pocket and lands in the soft grass. Whatever it is, it can wait. 


	4. I Would Not Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would not ask you where you came from
> 
> I would not as and neither would you
> 
> Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips
> 
> We should just kiss like real people do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to update! Midterms are kind of kicking my butt. Hopefully I'll get this fic and Something About the Sunshine finished soon :)

_I would not ask you where you came from_

_I would not as and neither would you_

_Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips_

_We should just kiss like real people do_

  
  


Just once, Alex would like to see Henry under a normal circumstance. No stolen kisses in alleyways before he throws himself into danger, no dates interrupted by someone or something trying to kill him. Not climbing through a window in the dead of night, which could be considered romantic, if not for the fact that he’s exhausted and his face is covered in bruises. 

Henry looks so serene right now, sitting at his desk, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, nose buried in a book. Alex knows he hardly has the time for this anymore, to just read for the fun of it. He hates to be the one to ruin it. He allows himself to stare for a little longer, but he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing him in his suit without his mask. He knocks his head on the window three times. 

Henry turns around in his chair, bright eyed and cheeks flushed, and smiles. He gestures for Alex to come in, and Alex tries the lock, carefully sliding the window open as Henry turns his back to put away his book. 

“We have a lobby, you know,” he teases. “With an elevator and everything.” 

Alex wheezes out a laugh from his spot on the window sill. He really, really doesn’t want to move. Everything hurts, and there’s blood in his eye obscuring his vision; he’s not sure if it’s his own. 

“I had to cover for you again,” Henry continues. “You really ought to start leaving notes. ‘Off to save the world, be back in an hour.’ Otherwise, I look just as surprised as everyone else.”

Alex knocks his head back against the wall, leans against it for support while he tries to stand. His throat is raw, and his voice rasps when he speaks. 

“I’ll remember that next time.”

He loses his balance on the wall and nearly falls, saved by his backpack evening out the weight. Henry turns, then, and his eyes go wide. He breathes out a distinct _Alex_ before rushing over, blanket falling from his shoulders. He places his hands on Alex’s chest, on the three large, jagged marks ripped through the silver spider on the front of his suit. The blood is dry now, at least, but it still marks the pale skin of Henry’s hands as he desperately clutches at the material. 

“What happened? Alex, what happened?” He ducks under Alex’s arm and holds him firmly around the waist, helping him limp over to the bed. He drops down unceremoniously, bouncing a little; Henry sits primly next to him and puts a hand to Alex’s clammy forehead. 

“You should see the other guy,” he tries to quip back, but it’s ruined by the groan that erupts from his throat when he tries to sit up. Henry shushes him and pushes him gently back down with a hand on his chest. 

“Stay down, Alex. Oh, love, look at you…” 

The sadness in his expression hits Alex hard, the pain worse than that of his broken ribs. He hates doing this to Henry; making him worry, making him a part of this secret. He should have never told him. He should have gotten out before they got this far. _He should have, he should have, he should have._

A knock comes at the door, and Henry jumps, pressing further on Alex’s chest and making him wince. Henry backs away quickly and whispers. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just stay here, hold on.”

He opens the door a fraction, just enough to poke his head out. Alex knows Henry’s able to control his emotions well; even without being able to see Henry’s face, he knows the expression there. But behind the door, Henry’s hands are shaking. 

“Yes?” he asks in an annoyed tone that could only mean his brother’s on the other side of the door. 

“Bea’s made some cocoa, if you’d like a mug.” Hearing Philip say the word _cocoa_ is too much for Alex; the snort that comes out of his nose sends pain shooting through his chest. Henry clears his throat loudly to cover up the noise. 

“No, Philip, I don’t want any cocoa,” Henry snaps, maybe a little too aggressively. “Honestly, I’m seventeen.”

“I seem to remember someone saying they wanted to live in a house made of gingerbread just last week, so forgive me for assuming.”

Alex covers up another snort. 

“Yes, well, I’m not feeling up to it right now. I have...cramps.”

“Cramps?”

“...yes.”

“Right, then.” Philip leaves, and Henry slams the door shut; he leans against it and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“A gingerbread house, huh?” 

“Shut up. I’m trying very hard not to be cross with you.” 

Alex’s smile falls. He musters all his effort to push himself up to sit against Henry’s pillows and holds an arm out. 

“C’mere.” Henry lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he goes to the bed nevertheless. Alex wraps his hands around his waist and pulls him into his lap, injuries be damned. There are tears in Henry’s eyes; Alex lifts a bruised hand to wipe one away from the delicate porcelain of his cheek. “Baby…”

“You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Henry’s voice is dangerously low. 

Alex shakes his head. “You know I can’t. It’s bad enough you know about everything else; I won’t put you in any more danger.”

“I think we may be past that point, love.”

Alex traces a finger along Henry’s hairline- this perfect, smart, kind man, who’s sewed more stitches than Alex can count on both hands, who’s seen him at his worst- and the guilt is back, clawing stubbornly up from where he’d buried it beneath his sternum. 

“You don’t deserve this, Henry. I wish...I wish things were different. I wish that I weren’t what I am, and that we were just two people who could be in love and not have to worry about whether or not I’m going to come out of the next fight alive. I just want to be a real person, for you.” He puts his forehead to Henry’s, one clean and unmarred, the other covered in dirt and blood and sweat. 

“I don’t need you to be any of those things,” Henry murmurs in reassurance. “I love you because of the way you are, not in spite of it.”

“What can I do to deserve you?”

Henry smiles coyly, hands sliding up to the unmarked parts of Alex’s shoulders. 

“Just kiss me.”

He does, and for a moment, as he tastes the Early Gray on Henry’s lips, he lets himself pretend.

  
  



End file.
